


amalgamate

by romywrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hogwarts Era, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:47:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27720926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romywrites/pseuds/romywrites
Summary: "Theodore wasn't a romantic. He had not wanted to fall into love; he had never thought about it. He met Daphne and walked into it without attempt." Perhaps the story most personal to me, a series of vignette-like short stories tracing the relationship of Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass, beginning in their fifth year and ending post-Hogwarts.
Relationships: Daphne Greengrass & Theodore Nott, Daphne Greengrass/Theodore Nott
Comments: 19
Kudos: 20





	1. new routines.

**Author's Note:**

> as i stated in the description, theodore and daphne are very personal to me. for whatever reason this couple holds a special place in my heart, and i've decided to share that with the world, hoping at least that others will love them with the same intensity that i do. this will be a collection of all the short stories i've written about them, beginning in fourth year and ending after hogwarts.

Theodore slipped down the stairs quietly, making his way to the Common Room. This had become a part of his routine. He'd wake up at those odd hours where night and day seemed to blend into each other, both too late and too early, and walk down the stairs to clear his mind. He was unsure of what else to do. His roommates were always asleep, and even still, he did not much enjoy their conversation otherwise. He'd considered reading, but it only further clogged up his mind. He did not have the space to accompany the tribulations of another. And so here he was again, looking for a change of scenery. There usually was an assortment of people downstairs as well, none of whom he'd ever spoken to. They'd nod in a simple greeting.

Not tonight.

On the velvet green couch sat Daphne Greengrass, her blonde hair long and straight against her back.

She noticed him before he had a chance to flee.

"Hi, Theodore," she smiled. Immediately, his insides began to flip.

Oddly, this feeling was becoming part of his routine as well. He shrugged it off, attempting to regain composure.

"Daphne," he uttered. Formal and apathetic. _Good._

"Can't sleep?"

He shrugged in response.

She appeared unfazed by his lack of reaction. He did not understand this about Daphne. She never seemed to be shocked or confused about anything, always five steps ahead of whoever she was with. It both unnerved and intrigued him. He supposed that was how everything was with Daphne, though. Sometimes he would find himself watching her. Or, more specifically, the way that her green eyes would focus in on something. The way she always left her hair down. The way she stood a bit taller, a bit surer, than everyone else.

With an uncomfortable feeling, Theodore realized that he had missed studying her. Was that creepy? Christmas break had only been a few weeks. But, then again, Theodore reminded himself, he only had two true friends to claim, of which Daphne was one. And he hadn't seen her at all the way he'd seen Pansy.

"I missed you at the Christmas— well—," he started over, catching himself. She smiled again. He wished she would stop doing that. "I just mean that I didn't see you at the Christmas party. None of your family, actually."

"It wasn't just a party," she replied, shrugging. A strand of her hair slipped off her shoulder.

He considered lying but wondered the use. Daphne was a pureblood, after all. She was aware of some of the intricacies, the alliances. Perhaps moreso than him. And also, although Theodore acknowledged this with less enthusiasm, she was a person he believed to be worth his trust.

"I heard my father talking about it," he said. "Dangerous not to attend."

"Your father is dramatic."

He could not fully deny this. His father had always been slightly unhinged, but he'd spent those few weeks during the holidays with a particular discomfort, constantly checking his sleeve, having conversations in dark corners. Admittedly, Theodore only understood what was occurring in broad strokes. Something seemed to be happening, or more accurately, happening _again_. His father and all the other purebloods straddled between excitement and fear at the prospect. The Christmas party had been a loose method of establishing a consensus.

Yet, the Greengrasses remained uninvolved. Her father had been rumored to be a Muggle sympathizer when he lived, an idea which only strengthened when he died in an accident involving Muggles. And yet, the family was wholly untouched. Maybe she was right.

He simply shrugged at her, not wishing to look weak. She smiled in return. Like she'd won.

"Anything else to discuss besides a boring party? How is your family?"

Theodore froze, once again considering his options. It would be so easy to say nothing, to shrug it off and tell her that he was tired after all. But for some odd reason, he felt himself rooting himself further to the ground, adjusting so that he stood comfortably. If he was honest with himself, he wanted to be honest with her. Unsure of what to make of it, Theodore shook his head.

"Oh, come on," she complained.

"If you must know, my mother left."

Suddenly, Daphne's face fell completely, and Theodore knew he was not imagining how she looked at him, deep care in her green eyes. She stood up, leaning on the edge of the couch, and grabbed onto his hand. His eyes fell to where they were touching.

"I'm so sorry, Theodore. I didn't know."

"She knows who my father is," he said simply, not choosing to elaborate. He figured Daphne would understand. "She doesn't want to be apart of it."

She moved her hand then and Theodore had to fight the urge to reach back out for it. He stuffed his hand into his pocket.

"And so she left without you?"

"Too suspicious if we both leave."

"She's a liar."

"She's my mom."

She rolled her eyes, opening her mouth to speak but seemed to think better of it and decided to simply rest her hand on his arm instead. "I won't tell a soul."

"I know," he found himself saying.

She dropped her hand. "Does Pansy know?"

"No, just you."

"I owe you a secret owe now."

He moved to pull away, but his curiosity got the better of him, and he asked for hers. But she simply frowned, squeezing his arm again, "You will have to remind me. Goodnight, Theodore."

He felt his face growing warmer. He shook his head. He really did need to get some sleep.


	2. realizations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! If you're reading on to Chapter 2, I want to express my deepest thanks again. As you'll see with this chapter, which I hoped the description made clear, this story jumps around in time. Each short story will be posted chronologically, but there may be gaps in between the stories. With that being said, any tidbits of information that you may need to understand I'll fill in. Most of these are just headcanons of mine. One day, I may go in and add in some of those missing pieces, but as of right now, I hope these notes provide some clarity. This particular piece takes place in the fourth year.

"Wait!" Pansy gasped, leaning forward so that her bangs fell a bit in front of her eyes. "You _fancy_ Daphne?"

Theodore sat still, unsure of what to say. He'd thought about this for months. In December when Daphne had announced that she was going to the Yule Ball with Blaise he'd remembered the hint of feeling in his stomach. Too small to be jealousy but too large for indifference. It had perplexed him. Shortly after had been Christmas break, a time in his life too chaotic to be thinking about balls and pretty girls. He'd only stopped to remember her when he'd realized that at the Malfoy's annual Christmas party, he had been unnecessarily waiting on her arrival. When they spoke again at school, he'd felt embarrassed when she looked at him, and even more so when she would smile in his direction. She had an odd effect on his behavior.

It wasn't until last week that he had to admit to himself, when he'd found himself genuinely happy to hear of Daphne and Blaise's breakup, that he fancied her. And, really, that he always had.

On the surface, Daphne was by far the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. She had piercing green eyes and long, flowing blonde hair. Her face was strong but soft. She walked with confidence, spoke with an even greater bluntness. He had never met anyone more unafraid to be themselves. When he spoke to her, he'd found himself entranced by her laugh, her smile, her mannerisms. He loved the way she narrowed her eyes before stating her opinion. He loved the way she smirked when she proved herself right, which was often. She was kind and smart and good. He liked this most of all. Even though she was painfully straightforward and stubborn, Daphne never was malicious.

But he hated how it made him feel. He loathed the feeling of warmth that would cause his face and ears to redden. He didn't understand why her words carried so much weight. She could easily change his mind. She could even hurt his feelings. He felt completely unraveled by her. It was embarrassing and immature. He'd wasted so much time thinking about her.

"I don't know," Theodore shrugged. "Is it weird?"

"No, it's perfect!"


	3. reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update! The last one was so short that I decided to go ahead and post this one. This takes place in the summer before fifth year! In canon, Theodore's mother dies and Theodore is able to witness Thestrals. Although never officially stated, I've assumed that his mother's death is the one he witnessed. Similar to Luna's mother, Theodore's mother likely died due to a magically induced accident. I hope you like this! Enjoy them while they're happy now ;)

"Why haven't you kissed me?"

They're in her backyard. It's those painful last days of summer that seem to slip away before you can ask what day it is. Daphne's looking up at Theodore in the way that she always does, piercing glare and full confidence, her arms crossed across her chest. He tries to turn away from her, focusing instead on the heat that seemed to be slipping under his clothes, warming him up beyond reason. It's no use. She doesn't move.

He decides on a shrug. "I wasn't aware you were expecting me to."

It's a lie and a lame one at best. If anything, Daphne's advances had been painfully obvious. He had spent most of the summer lying on the floor in her room with her beside him, her fingers at first a short distance away, and then eventually wrapped around his completely. She would talk about how perfectly he seemed to fit in with her family and her life, and beam at him in a way that was almost unlike her. And he wanted to kiss her. He did. He would be filled with an almost serene happiness and then night would fall and he'd drag his fingers away and walk the way back to his empty house. His father was always off doing something that Theodore was mostly unaware of, and his mother was six feet below the Earth somewhere in Scotland. In the beginning, he spent the days with Pansy, but her family eventually left to France and left him with Daphne.

But what would be the use of moving forward? His father is a Death Eater, and although they mostly avoided talking about the war, he suspects that Daphne is wholly against the Dark Lord and his supporters. He would be endangering her.

That, and Theodore is also really, _really_ nervous.

"If you don't want to be with me, at least have the courage to say it."

"But I do want to be with you."

The words rush out almost comically, and Daphne quirks her eyebrow in suspicion, pushes herself back. "Tell me why."

If it was anybody else, he wouldn't oblige, but it's Daphne and so he knows he will. He opens his mouth and says, "Because you're smart. And confident. And—"

But he doesn't finish, because she's kissing him, and she tastes like wine and he wants to laugh because she didn't even let him get out three adjectives before leaping on him and he could've had this _months_ ago had he not been watching her from a distance, too safe to be sensical. She pulls off of him slowly, keeping her fingers on his face.

"I just wanted to see if you would actually start listing off reasons," she laughs. "I don't need to hear it."

"Why me, then?"

She shrugs, turning away from him and dropping her hands. "You're Theodore."


	4. give it a rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This update came a bit later. I've been busy, but I hope this isn't too late! Enjoy this moment in their fifth year. To be clear, the next chapter will jump to their seventh year. This fanfiction is designed to trace the steps of their relationship. The next most significant moment in their development as a pair occurs there. Or at least it does in my mind. Thanks again! I appreciate all your feedback and comments. It means the world.

Theodore isn't sure what to make of it, but when his father walks up to him with alcohol on his breath and lifts his left sleeve up to reveal the twisting black tattoo, he thinks first of Daphne. More specifically, he thinks of their first conversation. The first time he remembered ever speaking to her was at her father's funeral. He'd walked up, as his mother instructed, and told her that he was sorry for her loss. She'd looked at him with her piercing green eyes and said, "You and everyone else." It was an odd day, regardless. The purebloods attended the funeral with more judgment than sorrow. It was not in their nature to sympathize with people like him. But Daphne spoke of her father with unwavering pride, wistful admiration.

And for the first time in his life, he looked at his father and chose to rebel. All he did was roll his eyes and whisper no, push his father off with an offhand comment, and walk away. But it was so much greater than that. He was picking a side. And it wasn't the side of the muggles, really. It was Daphne's side.

The implications of his decision only damage his relationship with his father more. Despite being enclosed within the same house, he could not feel farther from him. Farther from everyone, really. His only comfort is Daphne and the way she's seated now, her legs pushed up against him on his couch.

"I love the holiday," she said.

He turned to face her, taking in all of her striking features— her smooth skin, her high cheekbones, her soft blonde hair. "To be honest, I miss school."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, that's quite like you, Theodore."

"What do you mean?"

"It gives you a chance to hide in the library all day. We're even in your library now." She gestured her arm to the room around them. His mother's books were endlessly stacked to the ceiling. He had never enjoyed reading until her passing. It was one of the only things she'd left behind.

"This is my favorite place," he shrugged.

She stood up suddenly, approaching the piano. Turning from Theodore, she tapped it, and it began to play instantly, filling the room with its music.

She began to dance by herself.

"Anyone else would just ask me to join."

"I'm not anyone else," she said. "Besides, you don't have to." She looked over at him with a smile that reached her eyes as she moved across the floor.

They had only been officially together for three months but still, it felt so easy, so natural with her. For a second, he felt a bit foolish. He was only fifteen. But she was all he had. And he knew—although it sat uncomfortably within him— that he'd made the right choice rebelling.

"Of course I do."


	5. reminders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the spirit of Taylor Swift's surprise release of Evermore (a great album! Although, I'm still Team Folklore), I decided to release this early. Now Theodore and Daphne are in their seventh year and the war is in full effect. Get ready for angst.

"You know I hate smoking."

Daphne looked to Theodore as if looking into his eyes would somehow soften his attitude and tempt him into listening to her. It did not work.

She tried something else.

"You're _seventeen_ , Theodore."

He rolled his eyes. She always reminded him of this. He was seventeen, he was a son, he was her boyfriend, he had responsibilities. Of all people, he thought she would be able to see that he was much more. He was a boy in the middle of a war, watching two sides spinning around him, both preaching morality. On one side was his father, begging him to join his side, the side where Theodore was said to belong. But on the other was Daphne, pulling at his sleeves and trying to tell him that she believed that blood purity did not matter. Daphne was more convincing but she was not enough. In the end, Theodore was still afraid.

Daphne stood with her hands in her pockets, facing towards the never-ending trees. She was protesting in a form unusual for her, _silence_. He smiled and moved his hand, thin fingers wrapping around the cigarette. He burned it out quickly and thrust it into the woods.

"For you," He murmured.

He expected a smile or a sigh of relief, but she smirked like it was a game all along. Like she had won.

"You're welcome," He said sarcastically, hoping this would gain him a response. He watched her smirk turn back to the neutral position and she stood again, rooted in silence.

"We should run away," He says.

She wastes no time in her response. "That's stupid, Theodore."

It doesn't hurt him. He had learned soon enough how her words fell out with hesitation, too blunt for her own good. So he shrugs into the night sky and says nothing more. It is clear that Daphne's mind is running and for once in his life he chose not to care what she was thinking. He was tired of caring about everything.

He reached into his pocket for another cigarette.

"Seriously—"

"Run away with me."

" _I'm_ not a coward."

"Just one night. We'll come back."

"Where?"

"Just around the grounds."

Cold fingers slipped in between his thin ones, gripping onto his own. _I am here_ , she seemed to say.

"Just tonight, Theodore."


	6. everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say this time but a thank you! I hope you're ready for angst.

Theodore was uncertain.

He had accustomed himself to brooding in the gray area with his stoic expression, clinging to the simplicity of neutrality, but now, he was thrown into a war, and being uninvolved was no longer an option. The indecision itched at his skin and he felt as if was back in fifth-year where sleep was found in stolen potions. Without them, he'd be up for hours, watching the ceiling as if it would turn his grey world into black and white sides and he could choose. What was so terrible about that?

 _Everything_ , Theodore thought. _Everything_.

"I'll have to steal a healing potion," He murmured to Daphne, his fingers dragging over the light bruise under her eye. She had refused to torture a first-year as instructed. The Carrows had not been kind. Afterward, the DA had offered to heal it themselves but he'd declined, insisting that she was not interested in rebellion. It wasn't the truth, but it got them off his back.

He sighed. "You should stop this."

"Stop what?"

Theodore turned his dark gaze to her, rolling his eyes. She looked at him expectantly, biting down her reaction.

"I'm not playing your game, Daphne."

"Then don't. You just have to make up your mind."

"I don't have to do anything. There's bad in both of them."

"But there's only good in one."

He didn't reply.

She frowned, widening the distance between them.

"You're a coward."

He shrugged. He had lost count of the times Daphne had directed this particular insult at him. Before anything, she was a manipulator. Took your emotions to tie you to a cause. Called him a coward to make him believe in what she said. He knew that she would say that. He also knew that she was right.

"Maybe so. But I'm also not the one with bruises under their eyes."

For a moment, there was silence between them. At the beginning of their relationship, the moments of quiet had been comfortable, a minute to relish in the fact that you had the simple privilege of the other's company. Tonight he was tense with anticipation, waiting for her to finish thinking so she could ask her next question, make another accusation.

He did not have to wait long. She turned to face him again. "How do you want this war to end?"

"I'm not a Death Eater, Daphne."

"That's not what I asked."

"Isn't it?"

"How do you expect me to trust you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You don't talk to me! You don't make decisions. How do I know you don't agree with them?"

"I already told you I'm not a Death Eater."

"Well, you're not fighting either!"

In the midst of their argument, she'd stood up. Now she was looking down at him, her eyes holding fresh tears. Theodore considered what she would have him to do. Hold her face in his hands, apologize, take her down to the DA. And then what? Lose her? He had nothing to claim beyond Daphne. It was a dangerous thing to place all your bets in the same place. But what would she say to that? He could already imagine her now: judgemental frown, a lecture prepared about fighting in the war. About making the hard choices.

 _You are much stronger than me_ , he thought.

Instead, he said nothing, choosing to stare at her with a blank expression. He turned away from her slightly, lifting himself off the couch. "Healing potions are down the hall. Professor owes me a favor."

He looked back just briefly to see her reaction. She was staring at him, equal disappointment and anger in her eyes.

"Fuck you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about this grim chapter! The war is a difficult time for everyone. Theodore's fear just gets in the way, but it doesn't mean he doesn't love Daphne, or that Daphne doesn't love him. But sometimes, when faced with difficult decisions, is love enough?


	7. fracture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I know it's been a week since the last update but I've been feeling less and less confident in this story. I hope you all are still enjoying it. This chapter comes with a bit of a surprise! Amalgamate is as much about getting to know Theodore and Daphne as it is about understanding their relationship, and therefore, this second half of the story will be told from Daphne's perspective, beginning with this chapter. We have come to greatly understand her in Theodore's eyes but now it is time to hear her in her own voice, as well as to see how she sees Theodore. Enjoy!

"We'll find her."

Theodore leaned forward, his lips dangerously close to Daphne's ear, whispering with a frantic uncertainty the same promise that he had been saying for minutes. And just as he continued to repeat himself, Daphne continued ignoring him, focusing her ears instead on the noises of the Great Hall, listening for a loud, rumbling voice that had never fully ejected the posh London accent out of it. Astoria's voice. She had too much pride in her sister to look down where the dead bodies were. Theodore, however, she noticed from the corner of her eye, glancing down nervously. The action did not inspire gratitude but rather sharp anger. He did not have the strength to believe.

"She's not going to be down there."

She didn't mean to say it, not _really_ , but she felt him lean his head over her shoulder, peering down to see in a corner where there appeared to be several bodies lying together.

Theodore backed up cautiously, staring at her with pity in his expression. "You don't know that."

"I _do_ know that. I _have to_ know that."

He simply did not respond, slipping his hands into his pockets, continuing their walk. She looked at him sideways and began to whisper, hardly loud enough for anyone to hear her. "What am I supposed to do if she's dead?"

Theodore did hear her, though. He stopped again, taking a moment to study her. He frowned and a smudge of dirt followed the gesture, slipping down the sides of his face. He did not move to clean it off. She wondered how she looked from his perspective, how dirty.

"I don't know," he answered. Honestly.

It was one of the only times he had been honest in a month.

She kept walking.

* * *

By some miracle, Astoria was alive and well, bright olive-skinned and almond eyes smiling back at Daphne. She laughed when Daphne held her face in her hands. Theodore hugged her tight to his chest, more openly happy than Daphne had ever seen him. To Daphne's frustration, Astoria wriggled herself away, claiming to need to find a friend. And then, it was just the two of them, Daphne and Theodore. How different that phrase sounded now.

"Daphne—"

"Thank you for helping me find my sister."

"Of course."

"I still stand by what I said, Theodore."

He gave her his sad smile.

"I know you do."

* * *

_A week earlier:_

"You've been avoiding me."

Daphne bristled at Theodore's appearance in the Common Room. He sat in the chair beside her, tapping his foot rhythmically.

"I have."

She had never seen him so unraveled. Throughout their relationship, he had always adopted a policy of silence. In the beginning, she had been intrigued by him. His mystery. But now, she saw him as he was. Cowardly and reclusive. She thought if she fought with him he might crumble. If he cried, then she would understand him. Yet he remained unreadable. Until now. Silence had worked.

"Do you care to explain why?"

She shrugged, dropping her gaze back to her book. "I really don't think that's necessary."

"You don't?"

"You already know the answer. I don't trust you."

He sighed, rubbing his hand across his face. "How many times have I told you that I'm not a Death Eater?"

"How many times have I told _you_ that's not what I'm asking? I can look at your arm and see that."

He leaned forward then, whispering unnecessarily, "I'm not fighting in this war, Daphne."

"You're living in it! You're surrounded by it. Your father is a Death Eater. Your mother is dead—"

"You think I don't know this?"

He lifted his voice slightly. Something.

"You act like you don't."

He shrugged her comments off. "It's not like my mother died because of the war."

"She left because of it. I just don't see how you can be in this school and think that they're right. After everything we've been through. After everything we've seen."

"I don't think anything."

He had angered her nearly to the point of tears then. She dropped her head in her hands, looking anywhere but him.

"You should," she sighed. Now she was whispering.

"We can't keep having this conversation. It amounts to nothing."

"For once I agree with you."

He did not hide his surprise. His eyebrows quirked up, a shadow of a smile appearing on his features. "Good."

He motioned to leave but she stopped him before he could, knowing that if she did not speak now she would not have the strength to say it.

"In fact," she started, much calmer than she left, "I don't think we should talk at all."

_This_ will break him. She looked for his reaction, the pain that would rest behind his eyes, the way his dark eyebrows would furrow, how he'd stuff his hands in his pockets and relent, sit back down in the chair and listen. Decide.

"Are you breaking up with me?"

"I might be. You can't keep acting as if the world isn't happening around you. And quite frankly, I don't know if I can do this anymore."

"Okay."

Steadily impassive.

"That's all you have to say?"

He nodded curtly, moving his feet to walk away from her. "That's all."


	8. harbinger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Sorry for that last sad chapter. I would say this chapter makes up for it but... well, you'll have to see for yourself. Late Merry Christmas to you all! It'll be 2021 when the next chapter is posted :)

Daphne awoke to a pair of moonlike eyes staring down at her.

Priscilla the house-elf was the culprit, peering down at Daphne with _that_ smile— the gleeful grin that she bit back to maintain her polite air; the way she looked when she'd learned something.

"Good morning, Miss Greengrass."

" _Daphne_ ," she corrected, but Daphne put little effort into the comment. They had spent the entirety of their lives attempting to coax Priscilla into equality but she'd shuddered at the mention of it, often resorting to overly servile behavior when suggested. By now, it was simply a knee-jerk reaction, the same way in which Priscilla routinely ignored her, bowing her head unnecessarily as she pushed her hand in Daphne's direction.

"A letter for you," she explained. "From Mister Nott."

" _Theodore_."

Priscilla ignored her again. She walked farther into the room, mindlessly picking at the floor. There was nothing to clean. Despite her excessive humility, Priscilla remained incurably nosey, staying around with her large ears open, listening in on conversations. She moved closer to Daphne's side now, pretending to be picking at the blankets as Daphne opened the letter.

_I'm going to Scotland. Not sure when I'll return._

_-Theodore_

Daphne turned the letter over, looking for more. She whispered a spell, looking to see if more would appear. She lifted her wand to cast a light. The letter revealed none other than the nine words. She turned to Priscilla.

"Did he send anything else?"

Priscilla startled, believing she had been caught in her act. "Oh, I'm afraid not, Miss Greengrass."

"Who sent this? Did he drop it off? Was it an owl?"

"An owl, ma'am."

"Did you recognize it?"

"The letter?"

"No, Priscilla. The _owl_. Did you recognize the owl?"

She dropped her head to think for a moment. "I believe it was the regular barn owl from the Nott residence, ma'am."

Daphne looked at the letter, reading the words again. Scotland?

"You're sure, Priscilla? How long ago did this arrive?"

"Is everything alright, ma'am?"

"Priscilla, please answer my question."

"It sent earlier," she said, slightly frowning. "You were still asleep, ma'am. Your sister gave it to me to deliver to you should you wake."

Priscilla's smile had disappeared, replaced instead with a sort of vacant curiosity. She could not seem to decide whether to feel interested or afraid and had therefore decided on a median emotion, watching Daphne for cues. But Daphne was just as lost as she was. She read the letter frantically as if it would answer her questions— replayed it the way your mind revisits those once-lost memories, with a childish and feverish despair. But he was _going_. Going, not gone. She slipped off of the bed, her eyes not once moving from those nine words.

"I'll be back. Tell the others I'm safe."

"Yes ma'am."

Priscilla ducked her head, clearly deciding on fear.

* * *

The Nott Residence was an old hulking home that felt excessive and oversized. With Theodore Nott Sr. now at the Ministry awaiting a sentence in Azkaban, and Mrs. Nott buried deep in Scotland, the house was embarrassingly empty. But even when its old three residents had occupied it, its deep brown walls had never been welcoming. It was why Theodore had routinely sought refuge at the Greengrass Estate. A smaller and less opulent home, yes, but a _home_. Theodore had always said his own house felt like a prison.

She wondered if that was what pushed him away.

When she entered, she called out for him. No response.

She continued walking, entering the library where they had spent so many days lounging together, exchanging quiet conversation. He was not present. He was not in his room. Nor the kitchen, nor the dining room, nor the second kitchen, nor the living room, nor the parlor.

With each search, she felt more and more that she was moving in vain. But she kept on, foolishly entering each room, looking in to see if he was standing somewhere over a suitcase. She called even for his owl.

It was only at the moment when Daphne realized she had searched every crook of the house that she felt her heart slip deep into her chest.

_Gone_ , not going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry?


	9. the in-between

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, the week is up! I hope you all enjoy it! I am so grateful for every comment and notice that I receive. It means a lot to know that there are a group of people out there reading something that I wrote. 
> 
> Also, today is my birthday!

He does not write.

She stopped measuring the time in between letters when she realized a second endpoint was never coming— the first letter lived a lonely existence, haunting her in its singleness. Eventually, she learned to stop looking for him in crowds when she saw lanky boys with dark hair. She ceased mentioning him in conversation, no longer turning her head when his name was dropped casually. Although she'd never admit it, the change was not easy. Her tongue had grown used to the habit of following "Daphne" with "and Theodore." A reflex she had once regarded as romantic. The first time she didn't think about him when she mentioned herself, she sighed with relief.

By the third month, she no longer dreamed of him.

She regarded the freedom like a new coat, slipping it over her shoulders and trying it on, reveling in the newness of it.

By the fourth month, she started to paint.

At first, the hobby seemed nonsensical and too normal, void of all the magic her life had been full of. But the work was a magic in itself. Her hands reconstructed her sister's olive skin, her mother's simple eyes, Pansy's straight chin. Even Priscilla sat in one stolen afternoon. Her mother's health— a condition which changed with an unpredictability rivaled only by the weather— was unbothered for the day, and Priscilla came down to the salon, now transformed into Daphne's studio. She'd set the whole thing up by hand.

A piece of her felt uncomfortable using magic. Regarding it too highly had nearly split the world apart— it had successfully split her world apart. Her father. Theodore. She saw their faces when she opened up the room and commenced to moving slowly, dragging canvases and placing paintbrushes in their holders. She'd been forced to lock the door to keep Priscilla from helping her.

By the fifth month, she went on a date.

He was blonde.

Pansy had known him, said he was an old friend from Beauxbatons visiting England. He had smooth blue eyes like still rivers. He smiled a lot. He leaned across the table, his soft hands dancing close to her own, each gesture followed up with a grin. His comfort was a stark contrast from the way she sat in her own chair, her back flat against it.

The dinner had been too simple for Daphne's standards. He'd taken her to his favorite restaurant, a small boutique-like cafe. She was not used to feeling overdone but her black dress felt loud and unsightly. He did not seem to notice, too busy smiling to make any relevant comment.

He'd leaned back in the chair, gesturing his hand as if showing off the area. "Well, what do you think?"

She'd shrugged. "Not what I expected."

Somehow, he'd taken that as a compliment. Everything she said rolled off his shoulders in his ease. She could not help but think of Theodore then, the way he always considered everything slowly. Withholding his opinion, yes, but always _always_ having one. This boy seemed incapable of forming a thought.

The second was better. She met him in the sixth month. He was one of Blaise's distant cousins. The same cropped hair and glinting eyes. Tall and lean. His skin was close to Blaise's but a shade darker. She'd found him charming. Almost enamoring.

She'd liked him enough to invite her back to her home, to take his hand in between hers and bring him down to her studio. Her hands took to the canvas, forming his jawline and his brown eyes, his smooth hands and his broad shoulders. He had grown impatient and stood up, peeking over her shoulder to see her progress when Priscilla opened the door, her moonlike eyes wide with interest.

"What is it?"

She bowed her head unnecessarily, her lips forming the in-between of a smile and a grimace.

"Mister Nott is here, ma'am."


	10. see you again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! A bit early in the day for an update, but I've been ready to post this one! I've been getting in a hang of this story. Just to be clear, from now on, I will continue to post updates every Tuesday as I have been doing. We are reaching the end of this little story. Thank you to all those who have enjoyed it at all. It means more than you know. Hope you all like this chapter! It's a reunion!

It's Theodore.

She'd known logically of course that it would be Theodore— Priscilla had said "Mister Nott" like she always did and given her a glance that told her all she needed to know, announcement or not— but seeing him was much different than hearing it from Priscilla's mouth. Seeing him here with his soft, steady expression, standing halfway out the door, wrapped up in a coat too thin for the harsh air, throws her. He looks like an image out of her memory.

Where the fuck had he been?

He smiles awkwardly, the gesture appearing as a baring of teeth. He looks as uncomfortable as she is, as if he might keel over himself, compensating by gripping onto the edge of the door.

"Hello."

His voice is the same. Warm and low. The posh edges of London smoothed out with hints of his mother's Scottish.

She has not heard his voice in six months. The familiarity infuriates her.

"Why are you here, Theodore?"

He is unfazed.

"I came to say thank you."

"For?"

Immediately, she chides herself. Too curious. Too open. She crosses her arms over her chest, takes a tentative step back. Theodore's dark eyes fall to her feet, watching her movements with intense curiosity. Conscious, she clears her throat, bringing his attention back to her face. It does not help. She wonders how she must look. She had been dressed up, she remembers. For Zaire.

_Zaire._

"For what you said," he starts suddenly, slipping his hands into his pockets. It is only then she notices the coat is one she purchased for him months ago. His favorite. "About pretending the world isn't happening around me. You were right."

"Okay," she says simply.

Theodore frowns. He averts his gaze from her, examining the ground.

The room falls silent. She should leave, she thinks. Walk out with her dignity.

"Theodore, I—" He jerks his head up and a strand of hair slips out, covers his forehead. She has an impulse to push it away. He narrows his eyes at her hesitance.

 _He left me_ , she reminds herself. _He left me and he is standing in my house as if he belongs here._

"I want you to leave. I have a guest."

Theodore's eyes darken. "A guest?"

"Yes. I should get back to him now."

She waits— childishly, she knows— for any signs of jealousy. He clears his throat, shuffles his feet.

"I didn't realize you weren't alone."

The sentence, she notices, is more vulnerable than he usually permits. Less measured.

She backs up again, attempting to focus her mind elsewhere. On Zaire. Her guest. The paintings.

"Well, now you do. Priscilla will see you out."

On cue, Priscilla steps into the foyer, forgetting that she was not supposed to have yet heard the request. She bows her head, anyway, looks at Daphne with eyes wide as a question.

_Zaire. Her guest. The paintings._

("How long will you be in England, Mister Nott?"

"I'm not sure, honestly. Maybe a few days.")

_Zaire. Her guest. The paintings._


	11. lenora.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the late update! I hope this chapter is worth the wait. I had a previous idea for this update but once I started writing it, it felt inauthentic to the story and I wanted to deliver something that I was proud of. This story is important to me, and I really want my readers (just knowing that there are people reading this makes me wanna scream thank you!) to understand Daphne as a person as well as her perception of Theodore and their relationship. We're close to the end.

He comes again the next day.

Daphne doesn't believe Priscilla the first time she hears the words— the _"Mister Nott"_ catches her off guard, perhaps more than yesterday. But when Priscilla repeats herself, Daphne realizes that Theodore is downstairs. Her Theodore. Probably wrapped up in the same coat, standing awkwardly, waiting for her arrival. Her fingers seem to have a mind of their own, moving involuntarily to her waist, slipping her apron off. It is so easy to slip back. To be _his_ Daphne. It was all she ever really wanted.

She isn't sure if it's Priscilla's curiosity or her own stubborn insistence, but she turns her back to Priscilla, picks up the paintbrush, and resumes painting.

"Tell him I'm not here."

The next day, he comes again.

This time, Priscilla finds Daphne in her room. Theodore's arrival left Daphne feeling disjointed for the first time in her life. She was always precisely sure of what she wanted, what she believed in, _who_ she believed in. But hearing his name the way that Priscilla says it— a custom she'd grown used to when they had still been together— feels oddly transformative, as if she's gone back in time. But the six months are still there like an unwelcome guest, awkwardly present and demanding attention.

She gives the same instruction.

The charade goes on for two more days and by the time Daphne hears the knock on her door, she braces herself for Priscilla's entrance when her mother walks in.

It isn't until her mother is standing in the middle of Daphne's room does Daphne realize that the last time her mother had been in there was eight years ago. Right before her father died.

"Daphne."

Her mother's voice croaks out of her throat. She looks like a weaker version of Daphne. The same blonde hair but thinner, hanging limply and cut short at the shoulders. The same green eyes dulled to a murky gray. Her slim figure eaten away by the years, leaving her frail and nearly immobile. She walks as if each step is more difficult than the one before.

It is odd seeing her without Priscilla at her side.

Daphne smiles anyway. Her mother is the only person she can never be brutal to. Even when she deserves it.

"Mother. Please, sit."

"No, no. I won't be here long."

She looks down at her hands, one of them enclosed around today's _Daily Prophet_.

"I know you think me unwise Daphne."

Daphne mirrors her mother, looking down at her own empty hands.

"But if I would claim to know about anything, well, it— it would be love, Daphne. _True_ love. And what you and Theodore share is true. I know it. In fact, you two have always reminded me of me and your father. Of course, you and your sister are just like Aster in your own ways. Your father's girls."

She stops speaking then, as if honoring his memory with silence. Daphne almost laughs. She has been doing that for years now.

"And Theodore, I confess, reminds me of myself. I suppose that is why I want you to forgive him."

Daphne looks up as discomfort settles in her chest. She had only ever felt this way one time before. A year after her father's funeral, Daphne had been preparing to go to Hogwarts without any assistance from her mother. They'd gotten into an argument. She'd called her Lenora. Her first name. Priscilla had glanced at her quickly, her eyes filled with a reproach that Daphne had never seen. Priscilla rarely asserted herself, and Daphne quickly obliged. She'd felt guilty.

"Like I wish you would forgive me," her mother continues, her voice hardly above a whisper.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, mother."

"You and I both know that isn't true."

She begins walking suddenly, dropping the Prophet on Daphne's bed. She lifted her hand to beckon Daphne forward. Daphne came up beside her, leaning down to follow her mother's thin finger. Theodore Nott Sr.'s face stared up at them in a small photo, the headline over it reading **"THEODORE NOTT— MINISTRY'S DEATH EATER GUIDE— TO DIE IN AZKABAN."**

"Do me a favor and read the article before you go."

"Go?"

"To the Nott house, dear. He usually comes in about an hour. You'll save him the trip."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theodore and Daphne talking soon! Love everyone as always.
> 
> \- romy


End file.
